Ash Adhmaid
by abithajformroom
Summary: First point of view from a made up character of an anticipated 5 part series (5 different characters). Ash Adhmaid, a Sixteen year old from District 7 in the new age faced with torment and worry when her name is painstakingly pulled out at her 4th reaping. Incomplete -


Thick strands of her fringe are plastered to her forehead with warm feverish sweat, her nerves for the reaping must be making it worse. I delicately stroke her burning cheek with my cool fingers, I've been watching her for half an hour, crouched by her wooden crib. Dad had made it 13 years ago and we've never gotten rid of it because she's still small enough to lie comfortably within its wooden arms. She'd only come home with a splinter and now here she is, barely able to move. My eyes rest on the infected area on her palm, red and swelled by the splinter she'd acquired from a hard days work shifting logs from one woodshed to another half way across the district. She's coping though, she's so mature now, her body looks frail and innocent but the fight and learned skills of woodcraft are carved into her young face; a permanent crease between her eyebrows reveals this maturity, even in sleep she can't escape the hardship of life in district seven.

A bell chimes in the distance and I know I will have to wake her, there's no way of escaping the reaping either.

"Masie," I said shaking her shoulder as gently as I could but still firm enough to bring her to full consciousness, "Wakey, wakey, time to get up." Her eyelids languidly peel open and she gives me a weak smile as she catches my eye. I try to look happy but there's only so much joy you can project when you know there's a good chance you could be sentenced to death today for the enjoyment of the Capitol. I'm lucky I haven't had to take out as much tessarae as some others in my district because my twin older siblings have always taken that responsibility. I've always wanted to help, but been incredibly grateful that I've avoided that fate. Still, they're both too old to take out extra tessarae now so the duty has been handed down to me and, being sixteen, my name is now scrawled on so many pieces of paper I'm almost surprised that it hasn't been called in the last two years. I've already had my breakfast, I woke up screaming and bread and water was the only thing that I knew would calm my nerves. I'll never know how people can stand in the crowd looking so level-headed and strong, looking as though they've already accepted their fate before it has been given to them.

I run to the kitchen and cut my sister two slices of hard bread and fill a glass with water and bring them to her bedside. When I come back to her room she's sitting on the side of the crib trying to steady herself, one palm pressed down hard on the side of the wood. I put down the plate and glass and crouch down to her eye level.

"Are you alright?" A stupid question but it was instinctual, I extend my arms and find myself not knowing how to help her other than resting one of my hands on hers. She's baking.

"Yes..." she raises her head to look into my eyes, she's worried, her washed-out expression is hard to read, but deep down I can see the fear that today will bring, the fear that this day brings every year, "I'm just, worried." I nod and help her get changed into the smartest clothes we have. Everyone tries to look presentable for the reaping since there are cameras and television crews planted all over the square, documenting every child's terrified expression.

Our parents will meet us in the square later; they're already out working and can't relieve themselves of the schedule, not even for a Capitol event. We all work, Joshua and Aliana, our elder twin brother and sister are both twenty-one, the age at which all young adults are sent to a camp nearer the outskirts of the district, far away from where we live, to work hard labour day and night in the woods. When they first started I used to have a joke with them, passed through Dad about being lumberjacks but it wasn't as funny without seeing their faces light up with laughter and instead having reports back from my father week after week of a new injury one of them had acquired. My mum works in carving and furniture manufacture, Dad coasts around in deliveries. Delivering seems a safer job but even he only just escapes encounters with the wilderness, rabid wolves and other nightmarish beasts. I worry about them, of course I do, that's all I ever do. Worry and survive.

Another chime and I know it's time to go. On the second distant ring I feel my stomach flip and my head turn cold, we don't need this; more worry, more doubt and fear.

"Ash, we've got to go," My hands have finished tying a neat bow at the small of her back and are stationary. As she moves away from me the thin ribbon slips through my thumb and index fingers and I see her turn around and grasp my left forearm with her injured clammy hand. She flicks my straight dark shoulder-length hair behind my ear with her free hand and reassures me, "It's going to be okay Ash," her heavily-lidded tired eyes are smiling at me, "the odds are in our favour today." This is all wrong, I should be reassuring her, not the other way around, but all I can do is force a smile to spread across half of my mouth and gently pat the hand she still has tightened on my fore arm.

She's wearing a long cream dress and brown shawl; they used to be my mums when she was a young woman. Masie's long hazel hair falls away behind her but stops just above the ribbon securing the dress. She can barely walk and struggles to breathe evenly, but she's pure and innocent and pretty all the same. I'm dressed similarly in a plain, knee length, beige, cotton dress that hangs rather than hugs with a white collar and cuffs and two ivy leaf buttons at the neck. My hair is long and straight and natural, I don't feel I should doll up for the occasion.

I help her get to the square, let her lean on my shoulder, grapple my arms when she feels she might fall, she really shouldn't have to go to the reaping. Of course that would be too big an ask, there's no exception to being at the reaping. I'd heard that last year a young boy, only child, twelve years of age had tried to stay at home. A peacekeeper had found him on a patrol of the houses hidden under the stairs in a pantry cupboard, he wasn't seen again.

We're approaching the crowd, I'm supporting Masie with my left hand under her arm, she's burning up and her dress is damp with sweat. I want to say something to her to make her feel better but know I can't. A sea of greens and browns invade my vision before two peacekeepers in crisp white suits pull me and Masie apart, I knew this would happen but I still fought against the firm grip of the peacekeeper that tore me away from her to be separated into groups by age and gender.

When I stop struggling and have been placed in my allotted group I'm surrounded by tall boys and girls, some that I recognise from school, some with hard stern faces and some cracking under the trepidation. They're all facing the opposite way to me so I twist in order to see the main stage. Banners and signs emblazoned with the Capitol's insignia disguise the buildings around us which would usually look friendly and familiar and I would recognize as a town centre. Now we look like cattle going to the slaughter, compressed into this undersized plaza with a bright sky overhead, blinding us in its headlights.

The throbbing in my ears convinces me that we're standing in silence but I know the mayor must be giving his annual speech, dragging it out as long as possible, for no particular reason other than he doesn't want another two children to be sentenced to a fight to the death today. Unfortunately he cannot change that fate and by dragging this carefully formulated string of words out further only adds to the anxiety of every potential underage contestant here.

I desperately try to peek over the shoulders of my peers and my eyes survey the crowd looking for my parents. They should be here by now, I find Masie quickly enough, swaying dangerously on the spot looking ready to vomit at the word go. I subconsciously try to step forward to help her but just knock into a tall blonde-haired girl in front who sneers at me as I apologise. At a slight stumble I catch sight of a wave of dark hair to my right. It's my mother clawing at my dad's shoulder telling him something as she looks into the crowd and back at him. I'm sure she's telling him to do something about Masie, but of course, there's nothing he can do. His hands are behind his back, trying to stand tall but a slight hump in his back from years of work around the lumberyard and journeying from woodshed to woodshed prevents him from easily asserting authority. His face is grave and tough, he's pulling it together.

"Ahem," the small screech of a foreign Capitol accent distracts me from the sight of my parents, Trixy, our district 7 representative is beginning the speech that will end in one girl and one boy being carted off to the capitol likely never to return. "Good afternoon Boys and girls, Ladies and gentlemen, I am more than pleased to be here for the 76th annual hunger games! Shall we begin?" She clears her throat several more times before delving into the glass bowl resting on a table to her right, filled to the brim with the names of blameless young girls. "Ladies first!" The throbbing in my ears becomes slower, more weighty as everything seems to comes to a halt, Trixy's fingers more than slowly unroll the tiny piece of paper revealing the name of this years female district 7 tribute. I find myself whispering _Not me, Not me, Please Not me._

"MASIE ADHMAID!" A wash of relief immediately burns the cold nerves from my head until realisation pounds my lungs. My head whips around to where Masie was swaying just seconds ago, now she's shakily making her way to the stage, no one is volunteering for her. Tall strong girls are just moving out of her way, thankful that it's not them that must take this place. I can't let her go up there, all alone, ill, walking into death's compass. Then I realise what I'm about to do, I find my mother's dark eyes, metres away from me and they're looking straight at me, boring deeper into me the more I stare into them. She's frozen, severe and frightened, commanding my movements.

I look away back to the stage where Masie has reached the stone steps leading up to the platform infront of the justice building when I feel my right arm moving. Before I know it, it's raised and I'm opening and closing my mouth, silently screaming. My words get caught in my throat and only the first word escapes in a hoarse whisper. Four or five heads around me swivel in my direction and sudden courage overrides my fear.

"I VOLUNTEER" My right arm is raised over my head and I'm looking straight at Trixy's ridiculous purple face. At the sound of my voice, heads turn all over the square and Trixy's turquoise lips turn upside-down. I wasn't sure they'd understood so I try to raise my voice louder over the applause of whispers, "I VOLUNTEER". My legs ironically involuntarily guide me to the stage quicker than I'm able to anticipate. I pass Masie and want to somehow touch her, tell her it's okay and I'll be fine. I know that's a lie but I want to reassure her like she did me. Instead I stood next to Trixy who has turned to the audience and the microphone and shouted,

"It's like District 12 all over again! How exciting! " I don't know what my face is doing at the moment, I can't feel anything other than my relative's eyes resting on me, the camera's lights are blindingly bright so I can't see the crowd clearly, I just know that Masie's gone, hopefully been helped down the stairs by some kind soul and walked back to her place or even been allowed to run to my mother. Not that she can run. I can't even focus on what's happening inside me, I feel half dead, half alive with adrenaline. I'm stuck in the moment, unable to anticipate whatever's coming next, or even what I've just entered myself in for. I've even forgotten that there's another tribute to be called.

"LORCAN WOODS" I try to find the person that must be making their way to the crowd but I can only see the first row of young faces, the rest are unidentifiable in the brilliance. Then I see him jogging up the stone steps to my right, bursting out of the light, just a silhouette until he's standing next to me holding out his hand. It takes me half a minute to realise I'm meant to shake it and I raise my right hand. I haven't looked at him yet and now I only look at his hand taking mine, they're rough, grazed, clearly used to handle large hordes of lumber. His hand steadies mine since I can see it is shaking uncontrollably. I think it's best my head isn't completely raised, I can feel how hot the area around my eyes is becoming, I'm welling up and my head is completely unfocused. Everything is blurring together, the faces of my family, Joshua and Aliana laughing, they were always the ones to crack a joke. My Dad smiling with Masie on his knee rocking back and forth, she must be just a toddler in that rushed memory. Then my mother, all of the strained emotions flashing across her face in the moment we shared before I inevitably volunteered myself into the hunger games to save my poorly younger sister.

My fellow tribute pulls his hand out of mine and the memories stop; in fact everything stops, just before it starts again. Trixy's irritatingly ridiculous Capitol accent blasts its last few words into the microphone and waits for applause. It doesn't come, instead me and Lorcan are being forcefully ushered inside the justice building by peacekeepers, I can't see them, I can't see anything but my feet, skimming the ground. I'm escorted through a large door and I raise my head at the sound of a familiar voice, it's the mayor, talking to another peacekeeper. We're walking through a room I've never seen before, it's ceiling is superfluously high, with carpeted walls and polished wooden floors. We approach a white door with ivy leaves carved into the frame. The peacekeeper on my right pushes it open with one hand and on my left, Lorcan has disappeared. The white door shuts behind me and I'm left in a considerably smaller room with a dark leather sofa in the middle facing a fireplace. I can't take the time to look at anything else, I rush to the sofa and collapse face first into it, lengthways. My fingers claw at the armrest as I finally let myself explode with tears.

I wasn't suppressing this explosion, at least not consciously. I let the tears fall, I couldn't stop them even if I wanted to; the water gushing out of my eyes in floods and my face, my clothes and the sofa are soon drenched. I don't think I've ever felt this way before, my whole body feels as though in someway it has been broken. My bones feel fragile and my muscles are weak, I can't even lift my head, the only movements I'm making are the uncontrollable shudders as the crying continues. I guess I'd never really banked on my name being picked. Just a niggling in the back of my mind knew that there was a chance of me being picked for something that would change my life, or more likely end my life, but I'd never watched the Hunger Games broadcasted on television. The rest of my family did, they felt it important to know exactly what the Capitol were doing to the children of Panem's districts, as if knowing would stop the reapings someday. I'd heard about them though, everyone does, you can't escape the showings altogether, I definitely know about the things they've used to torture the children of rebel ancestors for the past 75 years.

I know now that I was feebly trying to escape it all, not watching the Hunger Games seemed to mean it distanced me from it. Obviously that was childish and I should've grown up a long time ago and realised, it's just luck in the end, very bad luck. I had sixteen potential years of preparation, and I wasted them, but what on? I could die straight away in these games. Correction; I will die straight away. What skills do I have? Nothing, I can handle an axe from all my days in the lumber yard after school, but how will that help me if I know I'm not mentally prepared to kill another human being? This is insane! This is all so wrong! I'd always known that these games weren't something to be enjoyed, that they're a punishment for a previous rebellion but it still seemed like a past war. It's not in the past, it's been happening for over half a century, we are fighting in a war. We're just on the losing side.

So? I'm not a warrior. Or if I'm being forced to be one, I'm not going to fight. Not out of choice, but out of capability. All my life I've been worried about my family, giving as much love and care I can to each one of them, but now who's going to worry about me? Worrying has always been my problem, I was just worrying about the wrong things.

One of the five doors leading into this room clicks open, I want to ignore it, keep my head in this pillow until I've sorted things out in my own mind but I can't. Curiosity and hope drive me to look up and I'm glad I do.

"Ash!" Masie and my parents have just entered the room. Masie runs towards me but my parents hold back, as if they've already severed their ties and don't want to re-awaken the sadness of letting me go, perhaps I'm already dead to them.

I can't ignore Masie, I don't want to. I turn over the rouge velvet cushion that I've just saturated with my tears and wipe my face on the back of both sleeves. The smile I attempt just turns into a grimace but Masie's hurried hug covers it up and blows the wind right out of me. Before I have time to look at her properly she secures me in a choke hold, her arms wrapped tightly around the back of my neck, her fingernails digging into her own skin to lock her grasp. Her petite round face is buried in my neck, it's cold, she's being crying too, either that or the feverish sweat plus her nerves are destroying her. I hesitate before wrapping my arms as far around her back as possible, she's so small that it's almost like I'm hugging myself, I can hardly feel her tiny body, and I want to more than ever. I want to remember this moment, for as long as I can, or as long as I get.

"I-I-I'm sorry, I didn't want you to have to v-v-v-volunteer," She's choking on the words, spitting them out in between flutters of sobs. I don't think I can find my voice just yet. If I'm going to say something, I want it to sound strong, reassured but I'm not sure I can give her that yet, so I let her go on. "I l-love you, Ash," my heart skips a beat and I let out a sob of air. A genuine smile finds its way onto my lips; she's never told me that before.

"I love you too," I whisper into her dank hair. We stay locked in this embrace until my mum pats her on the shoulder signalling to let go, I don't want her to, I've never felt closer to her than this moment, and it's not close enough.

We break apart enough so that our hands rest on each other's shoulders. "Please come back." I look directly into her dark brown childish eyes, red and puffy beneath her furrowed brows, she looks older than ever.

"I'll try my best." I wish I wasn't lying but my voice cracks on the last word and in that moment I know that I won't be able to keep my word.

Masie nods and sidesteps as my mother kneels down beside the sofa so that I'm looking down at her and she gives me the same look as she did before I volunteered. That silent, commanding look, the only thing that would ever convince me I had a chance in these games with a flicker of fear and pride. She reaches out her hand towards me and places it on my lap, my Dad walks to stand behind her. I've never been as close as I've wanted to be with my parents and now this seems to be a civilised goodbye. I open my mouth to tell her I'm scared but she gets there first.

"Thank you," that's all she says, and I think I know what she means, thank you for volunteering in Masie's place, thank you for sacrificing yourself in the place of the less able, thank you for saving my little girl. I feel how hot my face has become and my eyes sting and water but this time I'm stifling the tears, containing my emotion, only to give myself dignity in front of my mother. Then something happens, something I never expected to happen after that. She hugged me, she threw her arms around me and my Dad embraced the both of us, stroking my hair with one of his large warm hands. This gesture forced it out of me, too many conflicting emotions were swimming around in my head to not let one of them through. I sobbed into her thick brunette locks and the words just came out, I couldn't stop them.

"I c-can't d-d-d-o this," They were muffled by the hair and practically incomprehensible due to the snivelling and heaving. My dad humourlessly chuckles and whispers to me in his low, warm, familiar voice, "Don't give up before you've got there Kiddo" We clutch each other tightly, knowing full well that this may be the last time we ever do so, rocking back and forth, willing the earth to stop and anything and everything to just disappear.

"I love you, my darling, my special little girl," My mother says softly yet with an edge of clarity, so that I know, no matter how many ridiculous teenage doubts I may have had, I know, she does love me, possibly more than I've ever really known.

After what seems like only seconds of reassurances and holding each other my parents seem to think they have to go, they stand up, holding each other and Dad hold's Masie's shoulder, they just stand there tearily smiling at me for a few seconds before there's a knock at the door and a peacekeeper beckons them. As they leave, I take in every single detail I can, the way Masie's hair, although knotted and greasy from her illness still sways from side to side down by her hips, the way her right hand always swings by her side but the other is motionless. My mother almost as tall as my father naturally leans into him, her dark hair sits lightly on her shoulders as if it was made of cotton. Dad is tall, always has been bald and rough around the edges, but he has a kind face and gentle hands.

I gaze at their backs as they leave me behind for the rest of forever, I see the dark face of the peacekeeper that took them away from me and then I'm alone again. I'm perched on the sofa sitting up right with my back against the armrest but my torso is twisted and my hands have a surprisingly tight grip on the back of the sofa, I'm just staring at the door, willing it to open and another friendly face is there come to take me home. There isn't one, and I fear there won't be until one of the other doors opens and I spin around to see four of my friends.

Their faces are taught, distorted with fear, upset and forced smiles. They all rush in to hold a part of me as if they wish they could rip it from me and keep me somehow. They wish me luck, I don't know if I like that, it sounds too casual for this punishment. Some of them burst into speeches about how I'm their best friend and they believe in me, they seem so rehearsed it worries me, but then everything worries me. My friend's farewells are finished so quickly I don't have time to dry my tears and compose my face; instead I just let them continue. Perhaps if I get all the crying done now, I'll be alright by the time I have to do any real talking to anyone.

What a stupid thing to hope for. I'm left alone for a second time and start to feel how raw my nose and eyes feel due to rubbing them dry again and again with the sleeves of my scratchy, cotton dress and apparel of my friends. The peacekeeper's door opens but it's not someone I want to see standing there eager for me to follow. It's Trixy Ballista, primping her powder blue curls and pouting her ridiculously luminous turquoise lips. The brightness of her whole ensemble sickens me and I almost turn away until I realise there's no point. I'd look like a stubborn child asked to come out of the playpen. I obediently start to drag myself towards her sniffing and wiping away what will hopefully be the last of the tears with my shaking fingers.

She twists around before I reach her and trots off towards a door on the far side of the hall I've just entered, this must be the back entrance of the building, as I follow her brisk prissy footsteps I see people coming from all sides to join our short procession, a stockily-built boy who I'm assuming is Lorcan, I didn't see him properly on the stage but I'm pretty sure none of the other uniformed members of our scene are tributes.

We continue to march out of large double doors from this hallway into the street and I'm violently forced into a shiny black car by a peacekeeper, I try to harshly shrug them off whenever they put their hands on me but they're always too quick and precise. I guess that's how I'll have to be, short and sweet, get the job done and ignore the repercussions. I surprise myself with these thoughts sometimes, they feel so unnatural.

I watch the forests speed by in the car, I can't see the driver, there's a dark screen in front of me that only shows me my reflection, and I'm alone in the back. Alone with myself, I look closer at the reflection in the mirrored surface, I'd expect to see a mess, red blotchy skin covering my face but I look quite beautiful. Clearly the black of the surface is disguising the blemishes but my skin looks pale, my eyes are dark but flecks of blue and green stand out and their oval shape seems to be bigger, as if I'm holding something deeper inside. This mask is so unexpected, my emotions feel like they're right on the surface, but I guess when there's no-one to hide it from, there's no one to see it. I can't hide from myself after all, can I?

I turn back to my forests, my home, the greens and browns and silvers of their barks rocket by my window and soon they turn into fields, fields fenced off by large electric fences. These fences run around every district, or so I've heard. They're always on, they're a precaution maintained by the Capitol, as if it's needed, really.

We arrive too quickly, I feel as though I haven't had enough time to do anything, to say goodbye, to prepare myself, to think of a plan, what I want people to see me as. Inevitably it's no use, my emotions are too unexpected, they always have been, if I feel something, I can never keep it closed away, it'll find it's way out in the end.

We're at a train station, it's much darker now so I can't see much but the silver stream-lined engine waiting for us illuminated by the one solar light. When the peacekeeper lets me out of the car _there's nobody around so I look to him questioningly. He says nothing, just nods towards the train_ and points so I hurry over to the door which opens automatically and I step into a much larger than anticipated, brightly lit carriage. The length of the room was around the size of two sitting rooms. A large dining table to sit ten was placed in the very centre. Everything was polished, I hadn't seen anything as clean and proper as this in my life, apart from, perhaps from the inner decorations of the justice building, but even that doesn't really compare with what the Capitol have to offer. I jump at the sound of a sliding door to my right and the boy from earlier enters, he's looking at the floor with his hands in his pockets, very casual, too casual; I'm still shaking slightly.

I make a tiny coughing sound in an attempt to alert him and tell him that I'm here, I think I was meant to say hello, well it didn't come out that way, I'm still choked up a little. Nevertheless he looks up and see's me but he doesn't stop walking, instead he goes over to a sideboard by the dining table and informally picks up a bright green apple form a plentifully filled fruit bowl.

"Hi," His voice is young, quite low but not menacingly.

"I'm Ash," I try to sound as relaxed as he looks but I can't, I'm overwhelmed by this whole situation.

"You what?"

"Ash, my name's Ash," he's grinning at me, I think, his head is still stooped, he's rolling his apple over in his fingers, rubbing it on his shirt, throwing it in the air. Far too casual.

"I know," It's all he says before he strolls off back out of the carriage into what I guess to be a hallway leading to our accommodations. That was surreal, what is he playing at? Does he not understand that we're probably not going to be alive much longer? Or is he just cocksure he's going to win these games? He's not even a career, what does he know that I don't?

I'm not sure what to do with myself here, I begin to wander around the room picking things up and examining them just to distract myself before I start weeping again. There are no shelves; just surfaces lining the walls, all number of appliances I've never seen encumbering them. Mostly, there's food around the room, lots of food. Mostly exotic, the fruit bowl that Lorcan was inspecting contains a load of things I've never seen, some are really funny looking but they're definitely fruit, I've seen them on posters and things in the market place. I'm not surprised they have these things in the Capitol the colours are just as vivid and strange as the people themselves.

Just at that moment, who should intrude on my scrutiny but Trixy, bustling into the carriage with three other people, two I recognise from the few interviews and previous hunger games pre-arena broadcasts that I have watched, and then Lorcan, just finishing his apple.

"Oh! There you are, did your cabby take too long, I was beginning to worry we'd lost you until good boy Lorcan came and told us you'd arrived," She flashed a blindingly bright smile at the male tribute, I couldn't be sure but I think he winced a little, he still seems to be hiding his face somewhat. "Right, well, I'm sure you know that I'm district 7's escort, and... well you were so late I've already introduced your mentors to Mr Woods but well, you must already know them anyway," She sidesteps to her right and reveals to me the faces I'd been less than willing to see. The district 7 mentors, people who are probably about to bully you into a game play or convince you that it's okay to kill someone if you're doing it to save yourself. I don't think I'm prepared to hear anything they've got to say. My mentor will be the female; I know that as the tall dark-haired woman walks closer to me and holds out her hand for me to shake. I unintentionally look her up and down and then try to confidently take her hand in mine.

"Johanna Mason," she winks, quite cheery then, considering. Suddenly her expression turns into a scowl and she practically hisses at me "I'm dreading this experience as much as you are," what could she possibly mean? She's dreading trying to help me? Dreading watching me die, no she doesn't seem the type to be compassionate, we stand watching each other, both trying to figure the other out. She has full lips but a hard lined face, from experience I guess. She makes a little room, as if it's needed, for the male mentor to introduce himself. I hold my hand out to shake his hand also but he takes it and bends to kiss it. He pauses after having kissed my hand and looks up, one eyebrow raised.

"Talon, Talon Oakley," his eyes are grey, almost see-through, his hair is black and he's making me uncomfortable. Was he trying to be charming? All I got from that was, I don't want to be in the same room as this man alone. I yank my fingers away from his and he stands back up to his full height, much taller than Johanna, almost scraping the ceiling with his head in fact. The five of us stand awkwardly in a huddle in this cavernous carriage, looking around at each other, hesitant, discomforted until Trixy does us the honour of breaking our silence.

"Well, I'll give you some time alone, just to... well, talk tactics or...well yes, then I'll show you to the room you'll be staying in Miss Adhmaid," she looks around, finds Lorcan, still with his head bowed and waves at him, "Or Lorcan here can, his room is opposite yours, I'm sure you'd like that more than me eh?" I don't tell her that she's right, even though I'm actually quite anxious about this boy doing anything with me, he's the first tribute I'll meet and I'm already fearful of him. As she goes to leave the room, back down the corridor they entered from, I see her watch Lorcan until he's out of her line of sight. She has a ridiculous face, not just because of the eccentric Capitol make-up but because she looks like a giddy school girl experiencing her first infatuation. How old is she? Well, past her forties at least, judging by the amount of games she's hosted.

Something small I notice as she turns her head and her childish curls swish out of sight, one arm hangs by her side and the other swings backward and forth, just like Masie's. It suddenly feels like days ago that I said goodbye to her, probably forever.

"Don't bother with that now, you don't even really have to try that hard in front of Trixy, she's part of the team as well you know." I've been staring out of the door, it's Johanna that's addressing me, her lips are pursed and her eyebrows almost meet in the middle with a frown. I just continue to stare at her, I can tell my eyes are glazed looking and moist with tears yet again. She barks at me which takes me aback, I almost physically step away from her.

"Snap out of it."

"Out of what?" My voice is whiny, strained and uneven, I sound so pathetic but I can't keep the tear from trickling down my cheek and that's when she hits me. Her hand makes contact with my right cheekbone with such force that it scalds my skin. THWACK. That's going to leave a mark. The sheer strength of the blow made me fall to my left and wrestle a side cupboard until I could stand upright. Just the shock has made what was only one tear multiply into a pool of them, streaming from my eyes.

"What the... Why did you do that?" I screamed the first two words at her but I faltered and stammered over the rest. I cowered underneath that fierce gaze, those dark eyes telling me that I'm not good enough.

"Because this is ridiculous, I know it's what I did but they'll be expecting that by now won't they? Especially since I'm your mentor, so just stop pretending." Pretending? She thinks this is fake? That I'm not devastated that my life will be over before I've done anything useful with it? That all my friends and family might just witness my gruesome death? NO.

"I'm not pretending..." I feel so irate yet that phrase dribbles out of my lips as a plea; please stop slapping me round the face you callous woman. She exhales and like a pantomime physically shrugs her shoulders and stamps her foot, clenching her fists, so I try to prepare myself for a punch in the mouth. Lorcan and Talon are no longer standing behind her they've moved over to the other side of the room a good few metres away, they seem to be letting Johanna deal with me on her own. She appears to be having a mental argument with herself on whether to hit me again or take a more controlled, gentler approach. Thankfully, she resorts to the latter. Her voice slowly heightens as she confesses,

"Look, I don't like you and you don't like me but this is absurd, do you know how weak you look to the public right now? You can't dream of getting sponsors in the games when you look like this, a shattered vase of a sixteen year old, who volunteered for her sick younger sister- you didn't even make that look good, you practically crawled up those steps for that little girl!" Every time she waves her hands around in outrage I flinch, not quite ready for another strike. Instead I stand there, arms idly hanging at my sides, my eyelids feel heavier than ever and my head is throbbing from all the sniffing, not to mention the painful pins and needles forming what I suspect will be a nice multicoloured patch in the morning. If I make it 'till then.

"Leave her alone Johanna. I think you've messed that one up already really, I told you it was a stupid idea." She shoots daggers with her eyes at Talon for interrupting and jabs him with a comeback that sounds as though it has been running around in her mind for a considerable amount of time.

"Well, maybe you'll get what you hoped for this year then, male tributes always win anyway don't they." She forces this out indignantly, grinding her teeth as she does so. What a ridiculous statement, Vika won the 74th hunger games; she didn't even kill anyone after the boy from district eight. One kill and she won. She was good, clever, brilliant even, she was so sneaky and furtive, she looked it as well with her fox-like features; stealing food from the careers and quick on her feet. She managed to pick her way over landmines just for a few things to eat. I guess that's all you need when you're starving, you can't get greedy, but that wouldn't be a problem for me anyway, when have I ever had the option to get greedy?

"I know the winner will be a boy Johanna, just didn't have the heart to lay that into you," I can tell his teeth and lips are smiling. What the heck are they doing? Winding each other up like this is just out of place and unnecessary.

"You're so full of it, why do you even have to participate this year? Anyone could've been the male mentor but you, but I guess you're right, if all the girls are like this," she waves her hand in my general direction, "we've got no chance."

"That's horrible." She whips her head around to glare at me but I don't recoil this time, "who's to say I won't pull it out of the bag once we get to the Capitol?" as I say this, I realise I'm giving them and myself false hope. Pull what out of what bag? She stares at me for a moment, breathing slowly through her nose still hideously angry.

"Well, you better, because they have it easy. All they have to do is make eyes at the girls and then they've got them, eating out of the palm of their hand, you're just all too easy to please."

"What is this? Are you like that? Because I certainly am not, I've... I've come here to win the games, not to be ushered around by-by-by men." I could feel my heart beating a lot faster, the throbbing in my head had become louder and harder. My blood was boiling, fire was in my cheeks, and I had hated everything she'd said to me so far. This isn't going to work, Johanna Mason is not going to be my mentor. She's cruel, irritating and completely lacks faith in her tribute, how will she be able to even attempt to get me sponsors if she doesn't want to. Conversely, it's that last comment she made, all that nonsense about male tributes winning more frequently just because they can get the girls to like them, why is that even a concern of hers at the moment. Does she not understand that I'm going into an arena where I could easily die on the first day. I'm not worried about falling for one of my fellow candidates; I'm more preoccupied with thinking about how I'm meant to be murdering them.

Johanna's lethal expression has subdued and now she looks at me questioningly, almost deviously, I see her eyes flicker over to Talon and I twist around to see Talon exchange one quick glance with Johanna and then, what I can only decipher as a smirk, with Lorcan. This only enrages me more, I could smack that perverted little smile right off of his stretched face. Could I? I don't wait to find out, "Good luck." I emphasise both words with as much sarcasm as I can muster but I can already feel the hot misery seeping through my veins. I storm out of the compartment through the sliding door, down the corridor that Trixy traced and try to find my room. I pass a window and can see dark shapes flitting past it. I hadn't felt the moment when we had started moving but now I know we are I feel the pit of my stomach churn.

I cough out dry sobs and cover my face with one hand while I lean on the cold steel wall with the other. I'm exhausted, I just want to sleep, escape reality for just a moment, and leave it all behind. As I'm edging along the corridor I feel a window on my left with the hand that's grappling along the wall of the train. My hand falls from my face and I can see it, an opaque window of another sliding door. I sniff away the choking sounds I've been making and push the door into the wall, this must be it, I think since I immediately see the silver bed against the farthest wall. The room isn't that big, but it's joined to two others I discover as I open what I thought was a closet and find an en suite. From just one dazzling spotlight I can see the entire bathroom in full brilliance. Everything is white, the walls the floors, the shower, all of the products lined on a neat shelf that skirts its way around the room.

I run to the basin and turn on both taps, the water is so soft. I grab a white flannel from the steel bar that outlines the sink, rinse it and scrub my face before remembering how hard Johanna had hit me. I dab at the already bruised area and then turn off the taps and rest my hands on either side of the sink, letting my centre of gravity move to the spot between my shoulder blades. My breathing takes a long time to become even, and as I raise my head I catch sight of myself in the mirror. The darkness of that screen in the car was dreadfully misguiding. I don't look beautiful, I don't even look pretty, I look destroyed. My eyes have nothing, no mysterious flecks of colour, and my skin is covered with an ugly patchwork of blotches. I watch the water drip from my chin, my ears, my hair and my lips. The mark Johanna has made is already in the making, mauve spots are beginning to collectively appear like ink blots.

I'm so thirsty; I close my eyes, turn on the cold tap, cup my hands and bring the water to my lips. It's soothing, as if it's washing away the stress of my first conversation with my mentor. I could hope for it to be my last, but that's wishful thinking.

As I slump away from the sink I grab one of the crisp towels from a radiator, dab my face and make my way to the bed. Falling into it I begin to dream of falling into my own bed. Falling into it's hard springs and ancient, damp coverings. Surprisingly I can even smell the dry air, the scent of pine drifting in the air, tempting me into sleep.

"STOP!" I wake up startled having just escaped a screaming Johanna brandishing a fire-burning axe at me as Trixy and my mother look on laughing holding monocles and playing cards. Maybe Talon's right, maybe Johanna has already messed me up. My cheek throbs with a dull pain.

I turn over slothfully and stretch my arms, I can't have been asleep long, it's still dark, then I remember where I am, on a speeding train with a one way ticket to the Capitol where I'll be forced to participate in a game that will inevitably lead to my untimely premature death.

"Hi," I sit bolt upright in my bed, it's that charming, young but manly voice. The one that makes Trixy pull that stupid face, the one that Johanna thinks every male tribute has at his advantage.

"Hello?" Why didn't I turn the light on before I inspected the en suite and fell into a mini coma? I fumble around beside the bed trying to find some sort of switch. Then the light flickers on and I'm momentarily blinded by the sudden brightness. I guard my eyes with my outspread fingers as though I've been in the dark for years and only now someone decides to shed the light.

"You're in my bed." It isn't said with malice or accusatory quality but I feel guilty of something, that I'm invading this space, taking something for granted but I don't know what. I just know I ought not to be here, not just in this room, in this bed, but in this train, this train that is transporting me to the Capitol.

I squint through my tired eyes into the light at the silver crispy bedding and begin to hazily prop myself up, ready to make an attempt at the door when he speaks again. "No, don't worry about it, I was meant to show you around your room anyway, right? Well it looks like you explored mine enough, come on."

"I didn't realise... I just, I found a door and assumed..." I don't know what I am trying to say, I just need an excuse for my foray inside his room. Slowly my eyes are adjusting to the light and I blink several times, getting up, steadying myself.

"It's fine, I probably would've made that mistake if I was in your state." I give a hesitant nod before I understand what he's said, and my eyes become wet.

"My state? What does that mean?" I ask this as I hastily try to straighten the bed covers, still disorientated. I know exactly what it means, I wasn't keeping anything back after I'd attempted to scream at Johanna and my emotions were clearly tumbling out of my face, I didn't have a mask, I'm broken, and there's no one to fix me here, not even the mentor's whose job it is to sort me out.

"Well, you looked like something was going to burst out of you, and I wasn't going to guess at buckets of joy." That warm voice doesn't match the words it shapes itself around. I straighten my back, facing away from the door. Until now I'd kept my watery eyes on my busy hands or my feet, if that was an attempt to hide any feelings that immediately consumed me, it was pointless, I know that now. Amongst all the hurt and sorrow that's swimming around in my mind, the sheer negligence and pride that slips in and out of my fellow tribute's speech angers me, but not enough to cover up my weak appearance. I almost raise my head but hear the real defeat in my voice and give up, though I'm not sure what I'm giving up on.

"Do I really have a reason to be happy?"

"Good point." He still sounds like he finds something funny; I hear the curl of his lips as he says those two words. This time I do raise my head and turn to face him, in curiosity, hopefully it can compensate for my failing optimism.

"That's something I wanted to ask you, why are you acting like this whole situation isn't phasing you?" The white of the rectangular room illuminates his heavy form, slumped in the doorway, one elbow leaning against the door frame allowing his hand to hang lazily at his forehead, the other arm is behind him as if he's hiding something in his secreted palm. His head still hangs so that his face is hidden, just as it did before in the dining room; I haven't seen his face at all yet, what is he hiding?

I open my mouth, not quite sure what I'm about to say when he breaks the silence with a deep sigh and tips his head up to look at me. My eyes lock with his, they have to, I can't look away from them. They're a piercing powdered blue. They contrast so much with the dark eyebrows that create his expression. It has a splash of worry, concern, maybe even confusion, but this only lasts a second; after a single blink his eyes seem to smile at me before the corners of his mouth curve upwards and he gives a brilliantly dazzling toothy grin. For less than a second my mind is wiped of all feeling and my legs begin to give way, and then he turns, shaking his head and saunters out into the hallway. I follow the back of his tightly-curled black head and trace the line of his back with my eyes. His reaping shirt is a navy blue and hugs his thickset torso; he can't be more than one or two inches taller than me. So this is what Johanna meant by the male tributes having an advantage.

After a few small seconds of grinning to myself having mentally scolded myself, I force my legs to walk through the door and into an identically inverted room on the other side of the corridor which I assume to be mine. He's standing by my bed, facing the silver outer wall of the train carriage; his hands are in his black trouser pockets. I need to say something, so I pause in the doorway and fiddle with the sliding latch of the gate.

"I'm sorry, I just didn't understand. I'm confused here, I don't know what I'm doing here and I am clearly a complete mess... I just-"

"Yeah, I know, they're always surprised when we don't burst into tears, and just as surprised if we do." He continues to have his back to me as I decipher his words. I deduce what he's implying almost immediately. I don't know whether it's because, right now, my emotions are running high and I'm in touch with them all since they're subsiding on the surface, or because my conversation with Johanna is suddenly fresh in my mind.

"'they' meaning all girls?" I'm surprised by the amount of spice in my tone; it doesn't reflect the miserable pain, momentarily numbed by the erratic hormones of a teenage girl.

He turns and in the darkness of this unlit room I can only just make out a small smile, so I sigh, knowing my question was already answered.

After a moments silence he exhales, takes his hands out of his pockets, and taps them on his thighs,

"Well, this is your room." He edges over to the door and I lean against the frame in order to let him pass through.

"Yeah, thanks." Tapping his hand on my door frame, he pauses in the corridor, looking as though he still has something to say, but he just shakes his head and tells me,

"I think you can pretty much do anything you want, Trixy'll call you in the morning, if you want you can go back to sleep." I've completely lost track of the time, or I don't care.

"How long was I asleep for?"

"Only a couple of minutes," his eyes perused my face, "are you alright?" I don't understand this question. Firstly, it's ridiculous to suggest that either of us are alright, despite his cool countenance, and secondly, this approach is contrariwise to everything I've seen of his personality so far.

"Stupid question I know, it's just, Johanna really must've unleashed something on you earlier." I watch his eyes as they study my cheek, they keep catching the reflection of the spotlights that streak the centre of the hallway's ceiling. It's incredible the amount of power those eyes have on me, like laser beams healing and dulling the pain in my face. I don't realise how long we're standing in that doorway until I feel the warmth of his hand hovering by my face and I flinch away from it. The action was automatic; I don't feel comfortable with this stranger being suddenly intimate. He pulls back his hand and folds it behind his back with its pair before looking angry with himself and turning his head to look down the corridor behind me.

"Yeah, how comes you're all buddies already?" This is something that has been bothering me ever since I saw them enter as a trio into the dining room carriage. He laughs and brings his chin closer to his chest.

"We're not, believe me. I still can't believe she did that. I could tell she was a bitch, but that's a bit much." He nods at the mark on my face. I shake my head.

"I don't think her and Talon get on somehow."

"Well, that's only part of it, she was mainly annoyed because you destroyed her whole plan by crying all over Panem's screens..." I knew the nice guy act wouldn't last. Already, I could feel the heat creeping up my neck and surrounding my eyes.

"You - wait, so, what was her plan then?" The more I keep talking, the less opportunity there is for my eyes to overflow and my throat to close up.

"I don't really know if there's any point in telling you." A smirk crosses his lips as he raises an eyebrow.

"Of course there is, I could probably, maybe... still do it?" My pitch increases as I begin to doubt myself already. I guess I'm not going to get this information from Johanna so Lorcan's the next best thing. He seems to be able to handle himself well, he has so far.

"Err, she wanted someone like her I guess. Not how she acted in her games, which by the way is what she thought you were doing, up until you carried on being a sap in front of her." I could feel them quivering in my eye, any moment now and I'd continue to cry on those screens, I'm sure all of these rooms and compartments have cameras in. "What I heard Talon saying to her was, 'it's too late for the temptress idea then?' "This was unexpected, even from Johanna. I could imagine she'd wanted a strong tribute, but a temptress? Clearly she was looking for some gorgeous buxom blonde to power her way through everything by persuading all of the male district tributes to ally with her. She has me instead.

"So, what does that mean, she thought having a tribute that acts like a tart would've been a victor in the making?" I'm impressed by the sarcasm that drips off of my words. So Johanna wants the equivalent female tribute of what she'd described as 'having an advantage', having the boys 'eating out of their palm'.

"When you say it like that, it sounds stupid," Yes, I think, it does. "But this is Johanna, it was probably just one characteristic of her ideal tribute. When she saw she'd got you instead of her own miracle model, you and all your sob story complete with actual sobbing... You can imagine how pissed that would make someone like Johanna." I hate this, I hate Johanna, I hate her plans and I hate Lorcan.

"Well, I'm sorry then." I stare at a particularly dark spot by the foot of my bed and push myself harder into the door frame, I'd like to be further away from Lorcan but I guess I'm trying to make a stand. It's all I can do not to burst into tears anyway. It seems he's read my mind because he finally relieves himself of the other side of the door frame, walks into his own room and calls across the narrow corridor.

"Right, okay, I better go then, get some beauty sleep and stuff." I continue staring, blinking every few seconds still fighting to keep the tears at bay. Why is he hovering? Just leave already. "If it's any consolation, I think she's wrong. You could pull it off, even with the bruise." The anger and upset isn't enough to keep that flicker of a grin from invading my lips. Out of the corner of my eye I'm sure I see him wink, he isn't being sweet, he's being Lorcan, he's playing, I've figured him out. He won't fool me, no matter how blue his eyes are.


End file.
